


A Life Worth More Than Everything

by Telaryn



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Dirty Talk, Discipline, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e22 Beginning of the End, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, M/M, Miscommunication, Past Relationship(s), Phil Coulson Needs a Hug, Pre-Series, Protective Phil Coulson, Reunion Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 04:34:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2759777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sexual relationships between handlers and their specialists aren't unheard of in SHIELD - as long as it doesn't affect the work, the brass views it as  "don't ask, don't tell" situation.</p><p>Clint Barton has needs.  And issues, but mostly needs.  Lucky for him his handler has needs too - needs that dovetail nicely with his.  That isn't the problem.  The problem is work, which also involves the prying eyes and gossipy tongues of fellow agents.  And alien tech.  And actual Nazis.</p><p>When put up against all that, his lover's death and the fact that Clint wouldn't recognize his own self-esteem if it danced naked in front of him wearing a neon name tag seems fairly inconsequential.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Life Worth More Than Everything

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lillyjk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillyjk/gifts).



Clint tried to lose himself in the rhythm of dismantling equipment, checking and cleaning each piece and properly storing it for extraction, but the adrenaline in his system had gone toxic – twisting his insides until everything felt broken and wrong. Knowledge that he wouldn’t be getting any kind of relief any time soon just made everything that much more frustrating.

“Coulson said we’re on our own tonight.” Grant Ward came in, carrying what Clint desperately hoped was the final armload of equipment from the day’s operation. “He and Garrett went to check out that bistro in town.” The young agent took up a position directly opposite Clint. “Pretty wild out there today,” he said, clearly trying to draw Clint into a conversation.

The archer glanced up. “Good shot,” he acknowledged. “That was a pretty strong crosswind you were working against.”

Ward ducked his head, smiling slightly. “Thanks.” He settled in and started working on his own pieces – his movements mirroring Clint’s. “Based on in the intel, I was sure he’d end up in your crosshairs.”

“Me too,” Clint grunted. It was why he’d been positioned at the back entrance to the embassy. _Kid’s good,_ Garrett had said about his specialist, _but he needs to learn patience._

Something of Clint’s frustration must have bled into his tone, because Ward looked troubled. “We okay Agent Barton?”

 _Dammit,_ Clint thought, putting down what he’d been working on and pressing his hands flat against the metal of the table top. Exhaling sharply, he forced himself to relax. “Sorry,” he said, straightening up so that he could look at the other agent directly. “You ever get into the headspace and then _not_ end up taking the shot?”

Understanding bloomed in Ward’s expression. “Oh yeah,” he said, snorting softly. “There was this mission in Haiti where…” He paused, catching Clint’s eye. “And you were asking for understanding, not over-sharing. Sorry.” He reached for a case and pulled it closer – flipping it open so he could start sorting out the motion sensors.

Clint shook his head. “Forget about it.” He picked up his quiver, started to pull out the arrows to check them for damage, sighed and let them drop back into place. “This is me in that fucked up headspace.” He glanced up, meeting the younger man’s eyes. “Just do me a favor and don’t take it personally. It’s not about you.”

Ward looked thoughtful. “Do you…have a way of getting yourself sorted out?” A sense memory of Coulson’s hand fisted in his hair flashed so intensely in Clint’s thoughts that he couldn’t suppress a shiver. Unfortunately Ward seemed to take his reaction as encouragement, because he added, “Garrett and I, well, um…” He dropped his gaze briefly, then forced himself to meet Clint’s gaze again. “Sometimes, well, if…” He huffed out a quiet breath that was almost a laugh. “If you’re interested, I wouldn’t mind…”

 _Jesus!_ Clint thought, embarrassed for the kid once he realized what Grant was trying to do. “Thanks,” he said as easily as he could manage, “but I can’t. I’ve made promises.” His knees briefly ached with the memory of hours spent kneeling on the hardwood floor in Coulson’s apartment. “Good for you though, that you’ve got something worked out.”

“You do know he and Coulson used to..?” Ward asked, and the question brought Clint up short.

 _Coulson and Garrett?_ He supposed now that he thought about it, it made sense, but he almost wished Ward hadn’t said anything. “Phil never said anything,” he admitted. “You don’t think that they..?” He tried ignoring the fact that his hands had clenched into fists

Ward didn’t seem to notice anything off about his reaction. “I guess it’s possible,” he said, shrugging. “John did have that look in his eye.”

Clint hadn’t needed Coulson to point out that the quarters were going to be too close on this mission for them to have any time for themselves. He’d prepared himself to spend the down time between completion and extraction irritable and frustrated - _although granted, not this irritable,_ he was forced to acknowledge. The idea that Coulson might have used his position to see that his own needs were taken care of hurt, but it also made Clint wonder if he was expected to take Grant Ward up on _his_ offer?

The idea made him try and consider the younger man in a different light. Ward was certainly good looking enough, and as far as the physical release went it wouldn’t be entirely like sleeping with a virgin. The problem was Clint needed more than that, and not only did he not know the younger agent well enough to even broach the subject, he didn’t trust _or_ respect him enough for anything else to have a chance at working.

“You want to get out of here?” he asked finally, trying one last tactic to pull his thoughts out of their downward spiral. “Get something to eat?”

Ward shrugged. “Sounds good to me. Any ideas?”

Even then Clint knew on some level he would end up regretting the suggestion, but knowing didn’t stop him from saying, “I kinda wanted to check out that bistro myself.”  
*************************  
“You like to live a lot more dangerously than I thought,” Ward said, but the younger agent was smiling. He could afford to – his back was to the table where Garrett and Coulson were eating. “Are they still looking at us?”

Clint smirked, ducking his head slightly so that Ward was between him and Coulson. He wasn’t sure exactly what line he’d crossed, but if his handler’s body language could be believed, it was a big one. “Garrett’s trying to ignore, us. Coulson…” He peeked again. “Oh yeah, Coulson’s pissed.”

Ward shook his head. “Better you than me, my friend. John gets…creative…when he’s upset.” Their server approached at that moment. Grant ordered chicken. Clint asked for a recommendation and settled on a dish of rice, fish and local vegetables. “So,” Grant said, once they were alone again, “how long have you and Coulson been you and Coulson-ing?”

“A while,” Clint admitted, instinctively hedging on the details. _”I want this,”_ Coulson had said the first time they were together. Years later Clint could still remember the feel of calloused palms against his skin – steadying him against a tide of desire so strong he couldn’t stop trembling. _”As much as you do, but there have to be rules. We have to be careful.”_ “You and Garrett?”

“Probably the same,” Ward said. “John brought me into SHIELD. He…saved me.” He looked uncomfortable then, focusing on his food. Clint was abruptly reminded of how young the specialist really was. Partly from instinct, partly out of a need to continue tweaking his handler, he reached across the table and covered Grant’s hand with his own.

“Don’t let him take advantage of that,” he said, drawing Ward’s attention with the power of his voice. “If you’re with him because you want it, that’s great. You’re good at your job – SHIELD would keep you with or without Garrett. Don’t sleep with him just because you think you owe him.”

Ward chuckled softly. “Now you’re making me really sorry you’re exclusive with Coulson.”

Some of Clint’s frustration seemed to ease at that, along with his need to continue winding Coulson up. Shifting tactics, he deftly turned the conversation towards office gossip – sharing harmless secrets with Ward about agents he was likely to encounter, as well as thrilling tales of men and women he’d only ever know as the legends they were.

He was actually surprised to realize when their server brought the check that he hadn’t seen Garrett and Coulson leave. “How much trouble do you think you’re in?” Ward asked as they walked back to the safe house together.

They were rounding the last corner before the alley leading to their tiny apartment. Before Clint could answer the younger man, Coulson stepped out of the shadows – blocking their path. “A lot,” Clint’s handler said, pinning him with a furious gaze. “Agent Ward, go on to the safe house. Agent Barton and I have some business to take care of.”

 _Well, you wanted to piss him off, genius,_ Clint thought. _Happy now?_ He knew a flash of insane hope that Coulson appreciated his self-control in not making a suicidally inappropriate smart-ass remark to seal his fate for the evening. Then he was turning and falling into step behind his handler as Coulson strode off down the street in the opposite direction from where Clint and Ward had come.

He didn’t bother asking where they were going, or even taking note of the surrounding landscape. His entire focus was on Coulson, all the stresses and frustrations knotting his muscles falling away as his brain slid smoothly and easily into sub-space. He’d been with dominant men before, but Coulson was the first to show him that he could be truly safe in his submission. No matter what the next few hours brought, Clint knew it would be nothing he didn’t deserve and that Coulson would make absolutely certain he understood the why behind everything that happened.  
******************************  
 _”Come on, Phil – it’s not like I’m going to rat you out for some extra-curricular fraternization with your boy there. How about Ward and I get a couple of drinks while you get whatever’s got you so twisted up screwed out of your system?”_

He’d refused, of course. It wasn’t that he was afraid of Garrett turning him in to Hill or Fury – even if it hadn’t been one of those ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ type of situations, a blind man could see that John Garrett had his own specialist wrapped around his little…well, one of his body parts anyway. He’d refused – primarily because of Garrett’s salaciously preconceived notions about his relationship with Clint, but also because accepting could have been seen as an invitation to share and Phil knew he’d be damned and buried before he shared information on Clint with anyone who didn’t have a pressing need to know it.

Still, watching Clint play Garrett’s boy had completely soured his mood for the evening – pushing all the wrong buttons and ruining what should have been a reasonably pleasant dinner with an old friend. His certainty that Clint was behaving this way on purpose, that he was jealous of Garrett and acting out accordingly, had Coulson so quietly enraged by the time the server brought their check that _Garrett_ was ready to give him up as a bad job.

_“All I’m saying is that there are plenty of places down by the docks. Take him down there, beat the shit out of him, fuck him, whatever you need to do – then forget about it.”_

It was exactly what Clint was looking for out of him. If Phil had any remaining doubts about that, they were erased as he watched the archer at the edge of his vision while he settled up with the owner of the small warehouse he’d found. His posture was textbook, but there was a certainty to his stride that told Coulson more eloquently than any words Clint might be able to manage in his own defense that _Hawkeye_ knew he was about to get everything he wanted.

The problem with that, as far as Coulson was concerned, was that his specialist had a long history of wanting things that were no good for him. He also saw himself as basically worthless; the only reason he’d stopped marveling at Coulson’s commitment to him and their relationship was that Phil had finally threatened to start withholding sex. _”Whatever it takes, I am going to make you see how valuable you are.”_

All in all Phil figured he was in the worst possible mindset to enter a scene space, but Clint was leaving him with little choice this time.

“Knees!”  
****************************  
Clint was flying by the time he hit the ground. The rush of having his entire body so far outside his own control, and so far _inside_ Coulson’s was like taking a shot of endorphins directly to the heart. He didn’t even feel the impact of his knees striking the concrete floor.

A heavy cuff caught him across the back of the head. Clint moved with the blow, letting most of the force wash through him before settling himself into a properly submissive pose. “Stupid, impulsive…dammit, Clint, how many times do we have to end up here?”

The question was clearly rhetorical, but finally getting to hear just _how_ angry Coulson was with him brought Clint up short, his insides tightening painfully until he was no longer certain he was going to be able to hold onto his dinner. Instead of apologizing or worse – trying to defend his behavior – he swallowed hard and picked a spot on the concrete floor that could hold his focus for as long as necessary.

“I _told_ you we would have to be careful,” Coulson said. Clint saw movement at the edge of his vision and knew his handler was beginning to pace. “There are rules in play here, people I have to answer to – what the hell were you thinking?”

Polished boots stopped directly in his line of sight; Clint forced a shaky breath into his nostrils as the realization of just how much he wanted to feel those boots impacting his flesh shivered down his spine. _”There is a fiber-thin line between pain delivered for the pleasure of it and abuse,”_ he remembered Coulson telling him once. Clint’s previous lovers hadn’t always respected or understood the difference. _”Until I’m certain you appreciate what I’m saying it doesn’t matter how sweetly you beg me – this is my call to make.”_

“Look at me.”

Startled by the command, Clint immediately looked up into his handler’s face. Coulson’s expression was still serious, but some of the fire had burnt itself out of his eyes. “Ward told you about me and Garrett, didn’t he?”

Licking his suddenly dry lips, Clint nodded. “Yes sir.” His voice cracked – startling both of them. Coulson’s demeanor softened further.

“Did you really think I would break the promises I made without talking to you first?”

Tears were slipping down his cheeks before Clint even realized he’d been on the edge of breaking down. “I…I don’t know…” he managed, feeling everything crumble around him. The whole situation had seemed so clear just a few short hours ago when he’d only had Ward to listen to, and all the evidence he could see tilting in the direction it had gone so many times before.

Calloused fingers threaded themselves through the sweat-soaked spikes of his hair – sinking further into his misery, Clint leaned into the weight of Coulson’s palm. “When am I going to make you understand how important you are?” Coulson asked, stroking Clint’s hair with his free hand. “I can’t keep watching you do this, Clint. No matter what I do or say, you are _determined_ to sell yourself cheap.”

Something in his tone sent a thread of pure fear rippling through Clint. Heedless of what kind of protocol he might be violating, he sat back on his heels and looked up at his handler. “Give me another chance,” he begged. “You know I’m not that bright. You know…” Pain exploded in his head as one of the hands that had been offering comfort moments earlier suddenly cracked sharply across his face.

“Stop.” The Coulson that controlled and protected him even from himself was abruptly back in place, and Clint snapped immediately back into his sub-space – eyes dropping once more. “I’m over the self-deprecation, Clint. I don’t waste my time with stupid people, and you’re being offensive by continuing to suggest otherwise.” There was a long moment of silence, then Clint heard Coulson huff out a quiet breath. “I swear, there’s a part of me that wants to beat some sense into you, and an equally strong part that wants to hold you and love you until you can accept that I’m not looking for a way to leave you behind. I don’t know which would do you more good at this point?”

 _Either,_ Clint thought, but he didn’t dare say as much out loud. The failing was his – he knew it was – but he’d already trusted Coulson farther than anyone in his entire life including his brother. Whenever he was forced to confront how far down this emotional rabbit hole he was standing, it was simultaneously the most exhilarating and terrifying feeling he had ever known.

“We’d better get back,” Coulson said at last. “Bad enough Garrett and Ward even suspect what we’re out here doing.” He extended a hand and Clint took it, trying not to let his disappointment show too much. “You knew what we were in for,” Coulson reminded him as he reached his feet.

Understanding that they were on more equal footing now, Clint didn’t bother holding back his shrug. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it, sir,” he said.

“Me either, Agent Barton,” Coulson said, cupping his jawline in the curve of his palm. “You can trust that I’m going to make this up to you though.” Cool grey eyes traveled up and down the length of his body, making Clint shiver again – but this time with pure pleasure. “I think it’s actually been too long since you had a good caning.”

Clint smiled, and knew by the answering expression on Coulson’s face that it was just the right amount of laziness and arrogance. “I think talk is cheap… _sir_.”

One eyebrow went up. _”Oh, it’s going to be like that, is it?”_ was the question as clearly as if Phil had said it aloud.

 _”Oh, it’s going to be exactly like that.”_  
****************************************************************  
Their relationship survived that mission and many more like it, and continued to deepen and grow. It survived the night Clint was dispatched to eliminate the Black Widow and decided instead to gift SHIELD with potentially their greatest asset of all time while simultaneously leaving Coulson to argue that he and Clint shouldn’t be forced into SHIELD’s idea of early retirement for such a blatant violation of a direct order.

They gained a champion in Natasha Romanoff as well as a friend. Coulson tried to be scrupulous about keeping personal and professional entanglements separated, but he knew the Russian newcomer was giving Clint advice as well as being a fairly neutral sounding board for his insecurities. And despite his determination to not be “that guy”, Coulson occasionally found himself filtering things he wanted to say to his lover through Natasha’s more reasoned point of view.

Then New Mexico had happened, and the beginning of the end of everything. Puente Antiguo was too big and too sensitive an operation and Coulson was in charge this time – Fury’s eyes and ears on the ground. “You understand, right?” he’d asked Clint the last night they’d been able to spend together. “You’re going to be able to keep it together?”

Intellectually Clint understood that it was going to take a while for Coulson to lose his fear of his lover’s more irrationally impulsive side, but in the privacy of his own mind he could admit the reassurance steadied him. “I won’t even whisper your name when I’m jerking off in my bunk, I swear.”

He couldn’t tell if Phil was amused or not.

After New Mexico had come weeks of guard duty at the main SHIELD base in upstate New York – watching the scientists trying to crack the mystery of the tesseract that the Asgardians had brought with them to Earth. The tesseract had brought Loki into his life and his head, and by the time Natasha was able to rescue him with some “cognitive recalibration” as she’d termed it, Coulson was dead along with more SHIELD agents than Clint could think of without being sick. His professional reputation was in tatters.

He’d also been accepted as an Avenger, but the “honor” of being one of the saviors of New York paled against the knowledge that if it hadn’t been for him New York likely wouldn’t have needed all that much saving in the first place. Natasha had tried to help him find his balance again and Fury had repeatedly assuredly him that charges weren’t being considered in light of the mind-raping he’d endured. Fury even went so far as to come up with assignments for Clint to take his mind off everything that had happened, but they were usually solitary jobs so far afield that they left the archer with much too much time to think and regret.

He was at the end of one such mission – delivering his prisoner to the Fridge – when his entire world was finally and irrevocably blown to hell. Fury betrayed to his death, Captain America declared an enemy of the state, and Clint forced to watch with the other agents stationed at the prison while Cap and Natasha raced to keep HYDRA from launching a weapon capable of eliminating millions of people at a shot.

“I could really use you,” the agent in charge told Clint. Overriding all the other damage was the revelation that HYDRA had its tentacles sunk so firmly in SHIELD that no one could say with any certainty how deep the poison went. Men and women who’d worked together for decades now had no idea who they could trust. “I know you probably want to get back to Washington, but things are too unsettled right now for me to risk what we’re guarding out here. I need to be able to lock us down with people I can trust to hold the line.”

Clint was touched by the request, but he nevertheless felt obligated to point out, “Given my history, I figured you’d want me as far away from this place as I could get.”

Deep down he suspected what the man was going to say before he said it. “Phil Coulson spoke more highly of you than I ever heard him speak about anybody except his mother. His word will _always_ be good enough for me.”

He suspected the older man would never know what a gift he’d passed on, but Clint vowed to do everything in his power to help secure the prison. He would have done his best anyway, but now it felt more somehow, like he was doing it to affirm Coulson’s opinion of him. _”No matter what I do or say, you are determined to sell yourself cheap.”_ It was far too little much too late, but as he took his position Clint finally began to appreciate how much his non-existent self-esteem must have frustrated Coulson.

 _God Phil, wherever you are I hope you can forgive me._ His cheek tingled faintly with the memory of one of Coulson’s slaps and he smiled. _All right boss, all right. Better late than never, huh?_ Setting an arrow to his string, he exhaled softly and prepared himself to do whatever it was going to take to keep the Fridge and its contents intact.

It wouldn’t be until much later that Clint and the men and women fighting closest to him would learn that they never had a chance. Coulson’s friend and the agent in charge of the Fridge, the man who had personally asked for Clint’s help in keeping it secure, was HYDRA. At a pre-arranged moment in the fighting, men and women throughout the facility began turning on their fellow agents. Those still loyal to SHIELD were captured unless they resisted – in which case they were cut down without warning or regret.

All except for Clint. As the tide turned against them he continued to fight, continued to resist as long as his ammunition held out.

“It doesn’t have to be like this!” one of the HYDRA soldiers hounding him called out as the hammer of his sidearm finally clicked on an empty chamber. “HYDRA has a place for you, Agent Barton.”

 _Fury dead…Coulson dead…everything they built coming down in flames…_ “HYDRA can blow me,” Clint growled, tossing his pistol away and drawing his dagger. He would only get one chance to put himself out of HYDRA’s reach for good – he had to make it count.

He wasn’t fast enough by half. The edge of his blade had barely nicked the skin of his throat when he was tackled and brought down by nearly thirty HYDRA agents. “Too valuable to let go that easily,” he heard someone say as he was subdued, bound, and dragged back to his feet. Clint would have taken the statement as a perverse sort of compliment, except he knew his real value to HYDRA was in his proven susceptibility to certain types of brainwashing. 

Clint’s spirits lifted momentarily as he was herded into a cargo bay and saw for himself exactly how many agents stationed at the site had remained loyal to SHIELD. The weapons and advantage were clearly with HYDRA, but it was nice to have proof that not everyone he had fought with was a traitor.

That small spark lasted right up until he caught sight of exactly _who_ was in charge. “Aw hell,” he muttered, hanging his head as he saw John Garrett point directly at him. Moments later the ring of guards surrounding him was parting to let none other than Grant Ward through to collect him. “Well, the young specialist said, pity for Clint’s situation clear in his dark eyes, “not your day, Agent Barton.”

If anyone had bothered to ask, Clint would swear he never consciously decided to attack Ward. It was a suicide move that stood no chance of buying him anything except pain, but as he was being beaten into submission the archer knew the look of utter surprise on the younger man’s face as Clint kicked his legs out from under him was worth any price.

He was on the verge of losing consciousness when Garrett’s voice cut through the haze of pain. “All right, enough. Get him up.”

Clint was smiling as they hauled him to his feet, but as soon as he locked eyes with Garrett the grin disappeared and he felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. His time in thrall to Loki had given him a higher level education on what ‘crazy’ really looked like, and every instinct he had was screaming at him that there was nothing sane left in this man’s skull.

“Well,” Garrett said, looking him over with an expression far too reminiscent of too many men Clint would rather have forgotten. “And here I thought we were out of ways to leverage Coulson into doing our bidding.”

“You’re insane,” Clint breathed. He hadn’t intended to speak, but hearing him speak about Coulson as if the man were still alive was just about the last thing he’d expected to be dealing with.

Then he noticed the fear in Grant Ward’s eyes as he glanced quickly between Clint and Garrett and cold, awful realization crawled up his spine and burrowed into his heart. “No.” It was the only protest he could make against the sick, growing certainty that he’d been made a fool of.

_Again._

Garrett seemed to be a beat behind. “All right boys,” he said, still smiling, “what are you hiding from me?”

Clint could have sworn he saw a flash of regret in Ward’s eyes, but he was still Garrett’s man first, last and always. “He doesn’t know. Fury didn’t want any of the Avengers told that Coulson survived.”  
***************************************************  
Now that it was over, Coulson realized he didn’t want to know how long they had been chasing Garrett. He knew who his friends were again. The people who had betrayed him personally were in custody or dead. Fury was alive and had taken Coulson’s anger over Project T.A.H.I.T.I. with remarkable grace, all things considered. The dust was finally starting to settle – all he needed to do was lock down Fitz’s prognosis, and he could finally sleep for the first time in longer than he wanted to think about.

 _Deal with Fury making you director…_ He squashed the thought before it could take hold in his mind. He wasn’t dealing with the box Fury had handed him with all of its attendant headaches before he found out how Fitz was doing. He certainly wasn’t dealing with it before he had at least eight hours of shut-eye.

“Coulson..?”

Phil knew the fact that it was Skye who had come up on him was likely the only reason he was able to keep himself calm and under control as he turned to acknowledge her. “This better be important,” he said, secure in the knowledge that she of all his team would pick up on how close to the edge he was.

He saw the shifts in her micro-expressions as she analyzed whatever it was she wanted to say before deciding that it was important enough to lay at his feet. “I’ve been helping our people process out the friends and family Cybertek were holding in their ‘incentive’ program. We found a guy…he’s in pretty bad shape…says he’s a SHIELD agent…”

“Get him to the medical team Fury brought,” Coulson interjected, but a slow, sick certainty was sliding into his chest and coiling around his heart. _No…_

“He won’t go,” Skye countered. “Insists on talking to you first. Coulson, he says he’s Clint Barton.”

The world blurred around him. _”Barton’s moved on. It was hard enough losing you after everything that happened with Loki. Best you just leave that can of worms unopened.”_

“He knows.” Saying the words out loud helped his brain shift gears. Reaching out blindly, he gripped Skye’s shoulder. “Where is he?” _How is he?_ his brain screamed, but Coulson knew that was a question he would never survive hearing the answer to.

“They moved him to one of the larger offices,” Skye replied, concern writ large now on her face. “We tried to get a doctor in to see him, but he, um, refused treatment until he saw you.” Coulson huffed out a quiet breath, unsure whether to laugh or cry at the knowledge. “Clint Barton’s an Avenger, right?” Skye asked uncertainly.

Coulson nodded. “Hawkeye.” He hesitated for a moment, but realized that if there was anyone who would understand his feelings it would be Skye. “His name is also supposedly the first thing I said when they brought me back to life.” He smiled softly when he saw her eyes widen and fill with understanding. “Show me where he is.”

 _He’s going to hate you. He’s never going to forgive you._ He was too tired to stop the fear that had kept him away from Clint for so long from rising in his thoughts, but Coulson was determined not to let any of it stop him this time.

“When I go inside,” he said to Skye as they rounded a corner and he saw the cluster of people hovering around a closed door, “I want you to secure the room. No surveillance, nobody in or out until I give the word.” He sighed, gathering his courage. “One way or the other, this is going to get loud.”  
********************************************  
Adrenaline was once again flooding his system – holding back the truth of his injuries – but Clint couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d been ready to die rather than fall into HYDRA’s clutches and that chance had been stolen from him so he could suffer the indignity of hearing from _John Garrett_ that the man he loved, the man he trusted before anyone or anything else, had been alive for over a year and no one had bothered to tell him.

Least of all Coulson himself.

“My people tell me you’re in bad shape. On a scale of Kosovo to Marrakesh, how are you really doing?”

 _Oh God._ Heart pounding a heavy tattoo in his chest, Clint slowly turned to face the one person he’d finally accepted he would never see again. “Just tell me why,” he said, reaching out to steady himself on the back of the nearest chair. “Not even ‘how’ – I just need to know ‘why’?” Coulson drew breath as if to reply and Clint held up a hand. “And if you tell me it’s because of some bullshit Fury thing Phil, I swear to God…”

“He told me you’d moved on.” The words fell into the silence between them with a simple, awful finality. Clint imagine he could see hints of the pain Coulson was feeling and tried to tell himself that he didn’t care. “Told me that I would be undoing all the progress you’d made since…since Loki…if I tried to contact you.”

“Progress?” Something seemed to tear loose inside Clint, and the world around him went red. “What fucking progress? They wouldn’t let me go to your funeral! Nobody wanted to work with me anymore! Fury even took Natasha away from me!”

Emboldened by how much the truth seemed to have rocked Coulson, Clint took a few tentative steps forward. “There was no _progress_ after I lost you.”

“Fury said…” Coulson began. “Clint, I…”

 _“I almost ate my gun because of you, you son of a bitch!”_ Clint had never told anyone about the suicide attempt; it felt now as if a huge hand had reached into his soul and ripped the words out of him by force. The idea that he might be walking that razor’s edge had clearly never once occurred to the love of his life – Coulson made no attempt to hide his shock and dismay at the news.

“You were my whole world,” he snarled, pushing another inch into Coulson’s personal space. “My whole world, Phil, and if I hadn’t been so goddamn _weak_ Loki would never have known how important you were.”

He only had a split second of warning as Coulson’s brain caught up to and processed what he’d said; then suddenly he was looking squarely into the eyes of the man he’d sworn himself to body and soul, and that man was pissed. “Knees.”  
**********************************  
The command had been pure reflex – Coulson only realized after he barked out the word that he hadn’t actually expected it to work. Not after so long, or after so much had happened.

And it didn’t work perfectly – if there was anyone more surprised that Coulson in that moment it was Clint as he felt his knees go out from under him. “No,” he protested, groping for another chair and missing. “Not now…no!” Anger gave him something of an edge in that he ended up on his hands and knees, head hanging down, his breath coming in gasps as he fought the compulsion to submit.

Phil knew he had a small window of opportunity for Clint to really hear him, and even though he didn’t want to cause the man he loved any more pain than he had already endured, this was something he might have a chance of taking off the archer’s soul. _”That wasn’t your fault!_ How could you think I would blame you for what happened?” Reaching out, he fisted a hand in Clint’s hair – pulling him up hard. “Look at me.” Clint gaped at him for a moment, then tried to pull free of the hold. Coulson shook him – tightening his grip for emphasis. “I said _look at me_ , dammit! I am the only one that gets to say this and you _are_ going to listen to me. What happened with Loki wasn’t your fault!”

Clint abruptly stopped fighting the hold, and Coulson had the sense that he was finally – really – listening. “I can’t be your whole world, Clint.” Grief overwhelmed him, forcing Coulson to his knees as well. His hand slipped free of Clint’s hair, falling to the younger man’s shoulder. “You are worth so much more than I can ever be to you.”

Silence fell between them, broken only by the sound of their breathing. The air around them was so charged with energy and emotion Coulson was certain the hairs on his skin were standing on end. Thoughts of how exposed they both were right now flooded into his thoughts…Skye and who knew what else just on the other side of the door. _He never told you how bad he was really hurt._ Phil knew he had a very long list of reasons for not doing what he was about to do – not the least of which was the chance that Clint would deck him for trying.

Tightening his grip on Clint’s shoulder, he tugged him closer. His gesture met no resistance – and then suddenly Clint went from hating him to being in his arms again and the two of them kissing as if nothing else in the world mattered.

Cut free of all expectations and regrets Clint grew bold – and as he surged forward, tumbling Coulson onto his back, the newly-minted Director of SHIELD realized he didn’t mind it at all.

Okay, maybe not much. “That was my last clean shirt,” he laughed as strong hands tore at the fabric – sending buttons flying everywhere with tiny clatters.

“I’ll buy you another one,” Clint murmured, kissing him again. “And it wasn’t clean,” he added, ducking his head into the curve of Coulson’s neck and doing something with his tongue that sent most of the blood in Coulson’s brain rushing decidedly south. Hands skimmed the line of his throat, his shoulders, traveling lower…

 _No!_ Whimpering low in his throat as panic flooded through him, Coulson reached up and grabbed the back of Clint’s neck. “No…stop, Clint. Clint, stop!”  
****************************************  
Startled by the disruption, Clint pulled up until they could see each other clearly. “What’s wrong?” Seeing a confused tangle of emotions on his lover’s face, the archer began to panic. “Do you…did I..?”

He saw Coulson’s throat ripple as he swallowed, and it suddenly occurred to Clint that any reluctance he might be sensing could be from another source entirely. Extending a faintly trembling hand, he held his palm a few inches above Coulson’s chest. “Can I?” he asked softly, locking eyes with the older man and trying to ignore the stirrings of panic in Coulson’s grey eyes.

Swallowing again, Coulson nodded. Clint lowered his hand as slowly as he could manage, until he could feel the unnatural pattern of flesh underneath the thin cotton undershirt. “Does it hurt?” he asked, flexing his fingers against the hard, thickened tissue. “It doesn’t feel real.”

Coulson shook his head, eyes still too wide. “Most of the time I forget it’s there.”

“What about when you..?” Clint almost took it back – they were just starting to find their balance again and here he was bringing up the subject of other lovers. Coulson’s expression softened automatically though, and Clint felt an answering warmth bloom in his chest – spreading out through his body to the limits of his fingers and toes.

“You were the first thought I had when they brought me back,” he said. “They tell me your name was the first thing I said. There hasn’t been anyone else. I don’t think there can be.”

Momentarily overwhelmed, Clint sat back on his heels. “This is real…isn’t it?”

Blinking back tears, Coulson took his hand and pressed it firmly against his chest. “Everything under this stupid scar is very real, and has never stopped wanting you.” His grip tightened briefly. “Now if I don’t see some clothes coming off very soon, I’m not going to be responsible for my actions.”

“What about the rules?” Clint asked, cursing his sudden awareness of how not-alone they were. “You still have people to answer to, right?”

Surging up, Coulson rolled Clint neatly onto his back. “That’s the thing,” he said, practically glowing with a confidence bordering on arrogance. “I don’t. Not anymore. I’m the boss now.” His left hand tugged on Clint’s fly, deftly undoing snap and zipper. “I told my best person to make sure all surveillance was cut to this room until I said otherwise.” Fabric was pushed out of the way, and suddenly warm fingers were circling his cock. Clint gasped, vision momentarily whiting out as Coulson began to stroke him.

“Of course if she decides not to obey orders,” he continued, his expression darkening with an obvious hunger, “maybe the sight of me blowing you will show you the error of her ways.” He flicked the edge of his thumb under the head of Clint’s cock and the archer sobbed for breath, struggling not to thrust up into Coulson’s fist.

“Whatever you’re going to do,” Clint breathed, feeling himself slide closer and closer to the edge, “you’d better do it soon…sir.”

He would never in a million years have bet Coulson could look… _mischievous_ …and yet the evidence was suddenly crouching over him. “Oh no,” his lover said, affecting a look of studied innocence. “You’re not going to come until I say you can, Agent Barton.” A brief kiss then – Clint whimpered again as pleasure continued to build inside him. “I’m going to take my time.” Coulson curled in hard against him, his strokes slowing down just far enough for Clint to regain some measure of control. “I’m going to enjoy every second it takes for me to bring you off, and I’m going to thank all the Gods I’ve never believed in that I have the chance to really show you how much I love you.”

He pulled back, sliding down Clint’s body while still maintaining eye contact. “Can I touch you?” Clint asked, his voice trembling with need and emotion. He suspected for all of Coulson’s talk about a new start to their relationship and a new direction, his need to submit was always going to be a part of the relationship.

His lover’s expression softened again, his eyes so full of emotion Clint suddenly wanted to cry. “Don’t get bratty,” Coulson said gently, “but I’d like that. I’d like that very much.”


End file.
